Rogue (Real #4)(32)

We watch the bride and groom ride away in their limousine, and Melanie waves them off without letting go of my hand. As the car disappears in the distance, she tips her pretty face up to me.

The diamonds look so stunning on her that for a moment I forget they serve a purpose other than to adorn her throat. They seem to mark her. Scream at me, yours yours yours.

“Looks like I don’t have a ride anymore,” she tells me.

Damned if I don’t like that pout. “No worries, you’ll be coming with me,” I say.

“Mel! We have your car keys!” a man calls in our direction, keys jangling in the air. He walks them over and I can see he’s the shit-faced blond dude who’s been eye-f*cking her since I got here. He glares at me in silence. I level him an even blacker look. Keep glaring, *, I’m gonna be the one f*cking her tonight.

Melanie’s dark-haired friend taps his elbow. “Riley, why don’t you guys take Mel’s car? She and her date can come with Kyle and me,” she interjects. She gives me a warning look as though I should be concerned about this for some reason. Not intimidated, I nod my agreement.

As soon as we’re in the backseat of the car, the girl speaks. “That’s some bling you got there, Melanie.”

“I know.” Grinning happily, Melanie pokes her thumb in my direction.

“He gave that necklace to you?” The friend sounds shocked.

“Yes! And his name is Greyson, Pandora.”

“Well! Greyson, will you be paying for the prescription glasses I’ll need after the retinal damage I’ll receive from all that bling?” she asks.

“Send me the bill,” I easily respond.

“What’s next? Are you going to tie her up and pick out safe words or what?”


I smile. “No. There’s no word on earth that will make anyone safe from me.”

“Haha. I’m glad your boyfriend is enjoying himself,” Pandora tells Melanie, pronouncing the word “boyfriend” like one would pronounce the word “excrement.” She returns her attention to me. “We’re very protective of our Mel. She believed in Santa much, much longer than the rest of us. So tell us about yourself. You’re like some Gatsby guy, with lots of money, but a very mysterious past. Kyle and I Googled you but couldn’t find much. What are your intentions with our girl?”

“Pandora!” Melanie kicks the back of Pandora’s seat. “Ignore my friend, Greyson,” she tells me.

But the friend doesn’t feel like ignoring me. She keeps peering past her shoulder at me. “Are you glad Melanie didn’t catch the bouquet?”

“Why would he be?” Mel counters.

“Dude, judging by that bling, the man has no intention of marrying. Just f*cking.”

“Pandora!”

I laugh; I find it highly entertaining how protective this girl is. There’s no doubt in my mind some f*cking loser made her like this.

She shifts in the front passenger seat so she can fully face me. “Do you have a wife?” she persists.

“What?”

“Are you married? Are you gay? What’s wrong with you?”

Well, let’s see now. Currently, she’s what’s wrong here. I could stare her down easy, but why stare at this Bitter Betty when I have princess beside me?

“Pandora, you’re totally ruining my evening!” Melanie kicks the back of her seat again then shifts over to face me. She looks delicious, all in red. I feel like the Big Bad Wolf, staring hungrily at those kiss-me lips and those highly dangerous, innocent green eyes. “Is she right? Are you playing with me?” she asks me curiously.

I don’t know what it is about her, but the way she looks at me makes my cock start thickening. It’s my natural response to her. I can probably help it as much as I could help killing for her last night, which is not at all. No matter how much in control, you can’t command your instincts. Sometimes they command you.

I’ve only ever killed for one other person in my life.

The difference is, I felt no remorse last night. I wouldn’t change what I did for Melanie last night. I’d do it all over again, kill the first three just as fast, torture the fourth one just as slow. Hell, even slower if I could’ve prolonged it. In fact now, the reminder of her soft, helpless cries under the hood twist a knife of fury in my chest.

One hand curling around her waist, I drag her closer to me and whisper in her ear, “I’m not playing with you.”

Christ.

I’m being serious here.

As serious as I’ve been about anything in my life.

“Be honest,” she whispers back.

“I’m not playing with you,” I repeat.

We’re being watched from the front of the car, so f*ck that. In one move, I pull her over to sit on my thigh and lower my head to her. She smells so f*cking sweet and juicy I want to bury my nose and find the source of her scent. I rub my nose along the back of her ear, turned on by her nearness, her shape, her smell, her.

She trembles, and my muscles pull taut in response.

What are you doing to me, my sweet, lovely number five?

I reach out with my thumbs and force her eyelids to close so she won’t see me. So she won’t stare right at me with those f*cking green eyes that scream save and keep and do me, and I whisper in a voice roughened with lust, “When I’m not with you, I think about the next time every inch of you will belong to me. I play games and I play them hard and I play them dirty, but if you’re a game, princess, then you’re the first f*cking game that’s ever played back with me.”